Out of Thin Air
by chris steel
Summary: NEW UPATE! A woman from Achmed's distant past finds her way into Ylorc for the Cymrian Council. After saving Achmed's life, she stays with the Bolg and ends up threatened by the same enemy that wants Achmed dead.
1. The Collapse

Disclosure: None of the characters belong to me. Duh. If they did, I'd be publishing my stories in books, not online. Oh, well.  
  
Chapter 1: The Collapse  
  
Once every century since being reinstated, the Cymrian Council met in its entirety. Despite having been to the original, and one since then, Chaline was still amazed at the number of Cymrians compelled to answer the call. Chaline had traveled from the Hintervold, riding as fast as she could manage, just to arrive here on time.  
  
Chaline sat alone, a heavy cloak wrapped around her to protect her from the strength of vibrations from so many beings. Everyone else had divided into groups— their Fleet, their family. Chaline felt no particular allegiance to the Third Fleet, and she had no family to join. She had not been born on Serendair— no, she had been born on the smaller island of Peloy to the north and come to Serendair to learn healing from the Doran Monks. Half-human, half-Peloan, she had chosen to sail with the Cymrians when the time came.  
  
At the moment, the Lady Cymrian was detailing the state of the alliance, from trade tariffs to political standings. The only thing keeping the majority of the crowd paying attention was the Lirin queen's stunning beauty. That, and a vibration or two in her voice to capture their interest. Chaline recognized the Namer's method; Lady Rhapsody was undoubtably the most skilled Namer on the continent, if not the world.  
  
Charline's attention was wandering, though. Behind the Lord and Lady, the Bolg sergeant Grunthor stood, arms folded across his leather armor. The horned helmet and array of blades on his back added a particularly menacing air to him. He was a big fellow, she thought. The green skin and tusks made it clear that Grunthor was not entirely Bolg, but she had yet to recognize the other race in his bloodline.   
  
Also on the wide ledge was a man swathed completely in black. Tall— though not as tall as his sergeant— King Achmed's appearance was practically impossible to determine. Chaline had never been close enough to see what little of his face was visible through the veils, but from those who had, the consensus was that he was quite hideous. He allowed the Cymrian Council to meet at Gwylliam's Moot, in his land. Ylorc, the Bolg kingdom, had once been the Cymrian capital of Canrif. From what she had heard, he was irritated about having the meetings here, but Lady Rhapsody somehow convinced him.   
  
Chaline had not yet determined whether King Achmed was a First-Generation Cymrian himself, despite the fact that his kingdom was a member of the alliance. Ylorc had only come into being two hundred years ago, the first anyone had ever heard of King Achmed. Long-lived, yes, but immortal?  
  
But if she was going to question King Achmed, she had to wonder about Lady Rhapsody,too. She didn't seem to have a history, either, but from rumors, wherever King Achmed had come from, Lady Rhapsody had as well, Master Sergeant Grunthor with them.  
  
The Lord Cymrian she at least know about. Lord Gwydion was the grandson of Gwylliam and Anwyn, with more bloodlines than she could keep track of. While he wasn't immortal, he was close enough to it for it to be irrelevant for millennia.  
  
The Moot broke out into applause, and Chaline pulled her hood farther over her head, trying to deflect the vibrations. Her half-Peloan ancestry was a blessing, usually, but in certain situations it was painful. She wanted the meeting to end. The Cymrians would begin their three-day celebration and Chaline could slip away.  
  
Watching the ledge, she saw King Achmed collapse. Most of the crowd was focused on Lady Rhapsody and did not notice until she stopped talking and turned around. The Lady Cymrian was clearly alarmed as she, along with the others on the ledge, crouched to examine the king.  
  
The Cymrians murmured between themselves. Getting to her feet, Chaline began pushing through the crowd. It took her ten minutes to reach the exit. By that time, King Achmed had been carried from the Moot. Back to the city, likely. The Lord Cymrian was continuing the discussions, but the spell of attentiveness had been broken.  
  
Nobody stopped her from slipping out, though. Nobody seemed to even notice. Outside,she dodged camps of tents, horses, wagons, and non-Cymrians guarding the property. She managed to locate the temporary stable where she had put up her horse. Retrieving Chatka and paying the stablehand, she rode off toward the city in the mountains. 


	2. Grunthor

Chapter 2- Grunthor  
  
There was only a few safe pathways to the city from here, and they would all be guarded. Well, if they wanted Chaline's help, she would give it. Otherwise, Achmed certainly had his own healers. And a Namer.  
  
A trio of Bolg blocked her path, and she stopped. Another Bolg, on horseback, stoodfarther back. "Cymrians are to stay at the Moot," the leader said in clear Orlandean.  
  
"I am a Doran healer," Chaline answered in Bolgish. "I've come to offer my services to His Majesty."  
  
The leader gestured, and the Bolg on the horse took off down the path. "Wait here," she was told.  
  
So she sat in her saddle and waited for a response. After what seemed to be at least an hour, the Bolg returned. He nodded at the leader. "Sergeant wants to see her," he said in Bolgish.  
  
"Then take her."  
  
"Thank you," she said, bowing slightly at the leader. Then she was escorted to the enormous city carved into a mountain. The Bolg had completely redone the ancient city of Canrif— it was almost unidentifiable. It remained an amazing structure, though.  
  
The horses were taken away, and her guide led her through several passages before coming to stop in what appeared to be the throne room. Master Sergeant Grunthor stood in the middle of the room, arms clasped behind his back.  
  
She stopped a respectful distance away and bowed deeply. Besides running the Bolg army, the Master Sergeant was King Achmed's second-in-command. "I'm Grunthor," he said without preamble. "An' 'oo are you, missy?"  
  
She straightened. "Chaline, sir. A healer."  
  
"You told the guard you were from what sect, now?"  
  
"The Doran healers, sir," she said. "We were trained by the monks of Doran, on Serendair. If you haven't heard of us, it isn't surprising. It was a small group, and I believe I'm the last of us."  
  
Grunthor was watching her through slightly narrowed eyes, as if trying to determine the truth in her words. Finally, he shrugged his massive shoulders and gestured her closer. She walked to a more normal conversational distance, distancing herself just slightly so that she didn't have to crane her neck to meet his eyes. She had always thought herself tall, and not just for a woman, but her head didn't even top his shoulders.  
  
"You were in the Moot, Chaline?"  
  
She nodded fractionally. "I'm sure the facilities here are adequate to the need. Especially with the help of the Lady Cymrian. But King Achmed is our host, and I'm compelled to offer my own assistance, in case I may be of service."  
  
"Oi'll be honest, missy— you just might be." He started toward the door, nodding for her to follow. "So you're a First Generation, are you?"  
  
"I am."  
  
He shot her a quick look. "Not many of you left nowadays. Especially sane."  
  
"Seventeen hundred years will do that to a person."  
  
He grinned slightly, displaying his teeth. "Not everyone."  
  
"No. My people are long-lived, which helps in my case."  
  
Grunthor led her through more halls before they came to what appeared to be a hospital wing. "Wait here," Grunthor said, disappearing into a private room and shutting the door.  
  
Several minutes later, the door opened again and he said, "Come." 


	3. Healing

Chapter 3- Healing  
  
She walked in, casting a brief look around the room. For a king, he had sure been locked up in a small room. The king was on his back, unconscious on the bed. The tiny Lirin queen was sitting on a chair beside him, looking stricken.  
  
The veils over King Achmed's face had been removed. Chaline stopped at the side of the bed and looked down. He was not completely Bolg, as she had expected. She heard herself gasp.  
  
She could feel vibrations of Lady Rhapsody's anger. She expected she would see the beautiful woman's eyes flashing if she were to look up. But she didn't. The Lady Cymrian was obviously assuming Chaline was shocked by his appearance.  
  
Well, she was. Just not as the others expected. Brow furrowed, she studied his face. The slightly asymmetrical features, the mismatched eyes, the hint of unfamiliar Dhracian features— it couldn't be. She looked up again, heart racing. He had aged maybe a decade, but. . . could it be him?  
  
"I've been able to wake him," Lady Rhapsody said, her voice clipped. "As long as I sing, he seems normal. But once I stop, he slips back into this. It seems to be getting worse."  
  
Chaline nodded. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and concentrated. When she opened them again, she could see the aura flickering around King Achmed. The ideally transparent cloud was an alarmingly vibrant shade of red, eddies of crimson and black swirling through it to the beating of his heart. The cords of light, streams of his life-energy, were mostly obscured by the heavy clothing he wore, but enough was visible to suggest massive disorder.  
  
Dear All-God, she thought to herself, not wanting to upset his friends by making her observations out loud. It was a miracle he was still alive— only one under the spell of immortality could still be alive despite it. If this disruption remained, he would soon be dead, immortal or not. It wasn't natural; the immortality wouldn't allow it naturally. Something was doing this to him, on purpose.  
  
"My lady," she said, keeping her eyes focused on the king. "If you could wake him once more."  
  
Lady Rhapsody started humming. Amazed as always at the power of a Namer, Chaline watched as the visible energy cords began to untangle themselves. As they straightened, his aura lightened to pink, and then gradually faded.  
  
King Achmed stirred, his eyes opening. Immediately, he propped himself up into a sitting position. He turned to look at her, and his mouth twisted into a frown. "Who is this?" he demanded.  
  
"Chaline. A healer," Grunthor said.  
  
Achmed's frown deepened as he studied her. Trying to place her? Well, it had been centuries. "Hello, Vyn," she said softly, the Doran word for 'friend'. She had called him Vyn years ago, in place of the awful name his own people had given him.  
  
A look of utter shock, so alien on his face, flashed across his features. "Hrekin," he said. "*Chaline*? You sailed with the Cymrians. . . I would never have expected it."  
  
She smiled dryly. "I didn't expect they would *let* you sail, Your Majesty. Let alone give you an entire country." The smile faded quickly. "Who spelled you? This is dangerous magic."  
  
Achmed shrugged. "I haven't had time to think on it. How long is this going to take? I don't trust the Cymrians on their own."  
  
The Lady Cymrian didn't so much as bat an eye. Chaline didn't really blame him. Biting her lip, she said, "You were attacked with dangerous, powerful magic," she said. "I've never seen anything like it."  
  
Grunthor, right behind her, sounded concerned. "You can fix it, can't you?"  
  
"I believe so," she said, not willing to feel doubt. "But it will take a long time."  
  
Achmed muttered several choice Bolgish curses. "Go," he said, looking between his two companions. "Finish the gathering without me."  
  
"But Achmed—" Rhapsody tried to protest.  
  
His aura started to darken the second the stopped her humming. She quicky started again. "Sir," Grunthor said. "Oi'm stayin' right 'ere."  
  
"Bloody hrekin," Achmed said. "The girl is harmless. Get back out there and make sure the idiots don't damage anything. I don't trust Rhapsody's fool husband to keep them entertained for long on his own. Go."  
  
Chaline cleared her throat. "It's been a very long time, Your Majesty." she said. "Perhaps everyone would be more comfortable with a guard—"  
  
With a cynical snort, Achmed said, "If you wanted me dead, you could just stand back and do nothing." He gestured impatiently. "Get back to the gathering, you two. Don't let anyone leave until we find out who's responsible. And if you insist on guards, they stay outside the room."  
  
With reluctance, Rhapsody stood up. Kissing Achmed's olive-brown cheek, she said, "Get well. We'll be back soon."  
  
Achmed was unable to formulate a response. His aura turned pink, and then red, and then a deep, blood-red. The black swirls were stronger than ever. Chaline frowned. He had indeed gotten worse.  
  
"How do you know Achmed?" Lady Rhapsody demanded.  
  
Chaline looked up. The Lady Cymrian's aura was something she hadn't seen since the old world. Clear and healthy, it seemed to flicker with white flame. The energy cords gleamed with power. That wasn't just from her Namer skills. No, this woman had very definite elemental magic.  
  
And suddenly, realization came. She knew what had happened. "The hijeer," she said. The others looked at her blankly, and she said, "It's a spell that disrupts the flow of life-energy. It's usually used on those with innate magic. It feeds off magic. The immortality, the blood bond— it used those to disrupt the flow. And with your elemental magic, my lady, it grew stronger. That's why he's getting worse. And it will only continue getting worse until. . . ."  
  
They both looked alarmed. "Ya can't fix 'im? But—"  
  
"I can," she assured him. "I only use magic indirectly, to observe energy fields and flows. I can manipulate them without magic."  
  
Grunthor looked dubious, but Rhapsody said, "I've heard of your kind. On Serendair. The Doran healers?"  
  
Chaline nodded.   
  
"You will need help disrobing him," Rhapsody said, looking almost amused at the idea. "If I remember correctly, that's necessary?"  
  
She nodded again. "You have a good memory, my lady."  
  
Rhapsody was smirking slightly when she turned to Grunthor. "Too bad he's not awake to notice," she said. "Would you do the honors?"  
  
Achmed's limp body was soon stripped of its layers of black cloth. The energy cords were faint and thin, clearly failing, and knotted around each other. Untangling this mess would take hours, but once they were in their proper positions, he should recover.  
  
Pressing against the side of the bed, she ran one hand down his olive-skinned leg, feeling the sensitive, dark veins just below the skin. Stopping at the ankle, she pinched the area just over his heel, behind the tendon. One cord jumped, partially untangling from another. Maintaining the pressure, she slid her other hand beneath the knee, probing the proper point. One cord pulled free and stayed where she wanted it.  
  
She moved her fingers up the tendon half an inch and pinched harder. The other cord twitched. The source of this cord was entwined in several other cords, however. She released her hold and pressed down on a point on his abdomen, just inside the hip bone, then on the matching place on the other side. Cords jumped. She pinched his heel, trying again to trace the source upward.  
  
Lady Rhapsody and Grunthor quietly left her absorbed in her work. Chaline didn't notice the time passing as she continued to probe and manipulate. She circled the bed countless times, even climbing onto it to reach particularly awkward areas. Chaline had never seen energy cords this entangled. In nearly two thousand years, the worst she had seen was a farmer from Roland whose years of hard labor had gotten four strands knotted. Two hours of delicate work managed to separate those cords without breaking them and give the farmer a pain-free body. This— this was a nightmare of the first order. Not only were they woven tighter than a bobby-knot, they were as fragile as thread. They couldn't take much more than a light tug. Some could be broken and put back together safely. Others were already broken without her help. But to break the wrong cord would kill him.  
  
Muttering names, functions, sources, and destinations, she worked her way through the mess. At one point, she stopped moving and simply examined her options in dismay. Her only choice, truly, was to disentangle a knot of cords over his sternum. Leaving it be would prevent any others from reverting to normal paths. But one of the cords was the final consciousness pathway. It was choked now, but release it, and he would wake up. Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing, but she still had a long way to go, and he would have to suffer through it in the excruciating pain caused by the twisted life-force energy.  
  
"Sorry," she murmured, applying the appropriate pressure.  
  
Almost immediately, his eyes opened. "I'm sorry," she said again. "It's going to hurt for awhile."  
  
He opened his eyes to glower at her, not looking taken aback to see her kneeling above him. "Thank you for waking me," he said, sarcasm dripping through gritted teeth. "Why can't I move?"  
  
"Because those pathways are still blocked," she said. "And you can move from the shoulders up."  
  
"How long has it been?"  
  
"I don't know," she said, sliding one hand beneath him. Digging her fingers into his lower back, she pressed her thumb to an area beneath his armpit. Another cord free. "Now you can move your fingers?"  
  
His right hand twitched. "What happened?"  
  
She absently told him her theory of the hijeer, most of her attention concentrated on visualizing how she would proceed with the knot. When she finished, she fell silent, too busy with her efforts.  
  
She had forgotten that Achmed was conscious until she pinched the tip of his chin. He jerked violently, forehead colliding with Chaline's bowed head.  
  
Gasping in pain, she clutched her own nose. Over her fingers, she saw Achmed frowning. The pain was fading, and she decided that she was fine. "That one's painful, by the way," she said, grimacing slightly as she lowered her hand.   
  
"You're bleeding," he informed her.  
  
Cursing under her breath, looked around for a handkerchief, or anything to act as one. There was a towel beside a pitcher of water. Taking it, she pinched her nose and tilted her head back.  
  
"Is it broken?"  
  
She wiggled her nose experimentally, then said, "No."  
  
There was a moment of silence, and then Achmed said, "Sit down. You look faint."  
  
She didn't protest. It wasn't her nose that caused it, though, she thought. No, it probably had more to do with going to long without food and water, standing for so many hours on end. She perched on the foot of his cot.  
  
"Don't kings rate better beds than this?" she asked, her voice nasal.  
  
Achmed shrugged. "It's a hospital room."  
  
"After you disappeared, I figured you were dead," she said. "I never would have expected to find you here. And a king, of all things." He didn't answer, and she said, "I'm glad to see you, though."  
  
"Sure you are."  
  
"I am," she insisted, taking away the towel and checking the bleeding. Still flowing. With a sigh, she folded the cloth over and put it back to her nose. "I didn't approve of what you did on Serendair. I still don't. But you're still the boy I grew up with, and you're the first person from my old life that I've met here since I left."  
  
"I'm nothing like the boy you knew."  
  
"I suppose not. And I'm not the girl you knew. But that doesn't mean I can't be glad to see you."  
  
"Are you done bleeding yet?"  
  
She removed the towel again, wiping her nose and upper lip. "Hopefully." It seemed to have stopped, so she stood up again. There was a moment of vertigo, but she ignored it. She could eat and rest when she was done.   
  
After what felt like ten years, it had finally stopped. She stared down at him, tracing the pathways, searching for any sign of defect. Nothing. They were growing thicker as she watched. His aura was fading from the dangerous, painful red into a nice, healthy clear.  
  
"Well?"  
  
Sitting down heavily on the edge of the cot, she said, "How do you feel?"  
  
He considered, then said, "Honestly. . . I've never physically felt better in my life."  
  
"Well, the irritation caused by the regular vibrations in the air will come back," she told him with a yawn. "I assume that's still an annoyance, from the clothes you wear."  
  
He glanced down at his body, then at the clothes folded and set on the bureau by Rhapsody. He said something, but she wasn't paying enough attention to understand it. "I think I'm going to take a nap," she said, her own voice distant. "Now." 


	4. Rhapsody

A/n: happy birthday to me! and here's the next chapter. I've got a bit more to put up so I'll make that chapter five, but it may be the last of it for a few days (sorry). I'm going home for the weekend after my classes let out Friday, and then I've got a massive chemistry midterm next Tuesday and 100 calculus problems to squeeze in between Monday and Wednesday at noon. Ack! And thanks for your help, Quinda. sometimes I don't review as carefully as i should before putting stuff up.  
  
Chapter 4- Rhapsody  
  
Rhapsody finally managed to slip away into the hospital wing and check on Achmed and his healer. She had returned twice the day before, and both times, Chaline had not noticed her presence. It was past lunch today— perhaps something had changed. If the girl had time for a break, she would probably be starving.  
  
She opened the door and slipped through, holding a tray full of food. There had definitely been a change. Rather than leaning over the cot, tending to Achmed, Chaline was now curled up on it, dead asleep. Beside her, Achmed was asleep as well, breathing evenly, still undressed She broke out into a grin.  
  
She set the tray on the bureau beside his clothes, then frowned and picked up a bloodied towel. What was that from? Setting the towel on the chair, she cleared her throat.  
  
Achmed jumped, awake immediately. "Good afternoon," she said brightly. "Hungry?"  
  
He climbed off the cot. Chaline didn't even twitch. "My clothes," he said, walking over.  
  
She handed him the clothing, and he dressed. Then she hugged him. "I'm glad you're okay," she said, stepping back. "We were worried."  
  
Achmed nodded, picking up a sandwich from the tray.  
  
As he ate, Rhapsody said, "So. You have a friend you never told us about. Grunthor has no idea who she is."  
  
"Just someone I knew when I was a child. She was at the gathering?"  
  
Rhapsody nodded, watching him eat. "She saw you fall over and came to help. She was shocked when she saw your face."  
  
Achmed just continued eating.  
  
"Old girlfriend?"  
  
He choked, then glared at her. "Classmates," he snapped.  
  
"Classmates?" She tilted her head curiously. "I didn't know you were a healer."  
  
"I'm not," he said, rather impatiently. "I was raised by a Doran monk. She was there for training."  
  
Rhapsody shrugged, still smiling. "More than classmates, wasn't it? You showed an unusual degree of trust earlier."  
  
He glared again, then went back to his sandwich. She laughed. "Oh, Achmed. You're hopeless. She seems like a nice woman."  
  
"How long have I been laying in here?"  
  
"Just over a day. It's a little past noon now. The gathering went fine." She smiled. "They're all having their celebrations now."  
  
"Drunk half my wine by now, I'm sure," Achmed predicted sourly.   
  
"Everyone is concerned for you."  
  
He grimaced. "Just hoping I won't recover before they leave, I'm sure."  
  
"Most likely," she said with a smile. "You'll have to put in an appearance later, if you feel up to it."  
  
"I never feel up to appearing at any of these things."  
  
She laughed. "True. Well, if you'd rather spend more time catching up with your friend, I'd be happy to make excuses."  
  
"I bet you would."  
  
The door opened again, and Grunthor poked his head in. "Good, you're awake," he said. "Glad yer okay, sir. What's wrong wi' the girl?"  
  
Achmed shrugged, feigning indifference. Grunthor grinned, recognizing it as easily as Rhapsody did. Scowling at his old friend, Achmed said, "What does it look like? She's sleeping."  
  
"Pretty, ain't she."  
  
Achmed's look turned poisonous. "I really don't need this," he said. "Did either of you figure out who's behind the attack?"  
  
They exchanged looks, and then Grunthor said, "Could be a lot o' people, but Oi don't figger any of 'em would 'ave it out fer you, sir." He picked up a sandwich from the tray and crammed it in his mouth. "Maybe the missy's 'ungry."  
  
"Leave her be," Rhapsody ordered sternly. "When she's hungry, she'll wake up." 


	5. Chaline Wakes

A/N: ok, i forgot on the last one. no, Doran healers and those ppl were never mentioned in the books. it was mentioned that Achmed was raised by a monk, so I just sort of played off that. you'll find out more about them later on, if everything goes according to plan (haven't really written that far in advance), but basically, those monks (that'd be the Doran monks) trained healers among other things. that's why Chaline and Achmed know each other. Also, just a warning in advance: if you ever see the name "Cyrek" in here, that's a typo and it should probably be Achmed. Cyrek is a character in a different story, and I've been known to call one character by the name of characters in completely different stories, and Cyrek and Achmed are kind of similar. Just covering in case I screw up :-) Later, ~Chris  
  
Chapter 5- Chaline Wakes  
  
Chaline woke up, her stomach growing angrily and her vision blurred. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up on a wobbling cot. Where in the world—   
  
And then her memories came back. She stood up, wondering how she was going to find food. When she saw a tray filled with food, she figured she was dreaming. Well, dream or no, she hurried over and began inhaling it as fast as she could get her hands on it.  
  
"Hungry, are we?"  
  
It was Achmed's voice. She turned around, still chewing on a sandwich. Achmed was standing near the door, dressed to the veils. Swallowing her mouthful, she said, "I'm hungry enough to eat the entire tray." Then she tore off another bite of the sandwich— some sort of meat and cheese, with an odd, tangy dressing. Good. "Thanks," she added.  
  
"Rhapsody brought it."  
  
She didn't answer, too concerned with eating. By the time she finished the sandwich, her stomach hurt. "Ugh," she said, sitting down and holding her stomach. "Too fast."  
  
"What do I owe you?"  
  
She blinked. "What?"  
  
"You saved my life. What do I owe you?"  
  
"Your soul and your firstborn child." She flopped back on the cot. "But if you could get me the recipe for that dressing, I'll call it even."  
  
"I am serious, Chaline."  
  
"So am I. It's very good dressing."  
  
He grunted in annoyance. "Name an amount."  
  
"Amount of what?"  
  
"Of gold."  
  
She snorted. "I don't want gold. I have no use for it. Now that dressing—"  
  
"By the All-God," he said, exasperated. "I'll tell Rhapsody to give you the damn recipe. But I like to imagine my life as being worth more than a dressing recipe."  
  
"Very well. Then I want to live here."  
  
"Here?" He sounded startled.  
  
"In Ylorc," she said. "Tax-free."  
  
His eyes, the only feature visible, narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"  
  
"Because I don't want to pay taxes." His eyes remained narrow, so she said, "I've been almost everyone in the last seventeen hundred years. It's getting very dull. I've spent almost no time in Ylorc— it might be interesting."  
  
"You want to move to Ylorc."  
  
"You sound surprisingly skeptical," she said. "Considering it's your kingdom."  
  
He let out a long breath. "You'll work?"  
  
"Sure. If there's trouble here in the infirmary, I'll be glad to help, but if it isn't a problem, I think I'd like to learn a new trade, too."  
  
She waited for him to speak. Frowning, he finally said, "Do you speak Bolgish?"  
  
"I speak just about every language," she said in Bolgish. "You have a lot of time on your hands when you're immortal and you haven't conquered your own country."  
  
"You're sure that's what you want."  
  
"Yes."  
  
He looked irritated. "Fine. Welcome to Ylorc."  
  
"If you don't want me here, I don't have to," she said, a little taken aback. "It was just an idea."  
  
Achmed hesitated, but when he spoke, his voice was firm. "No, stay if that's what you want. You're welcome here."  
  
She wondered what bothered him about the idea, then shook it off. If it was important, she would figure it out and deal with it. "Thank you," she said. "And by the way. I should probably check you at least once more, to make sure everything has stayed the way it should be. Sometimes, some of the energy cords move again."  
  
He grunted. "Right. I wait in excitement."  
  
"Excellent. Tomorrow, then. Here?"  
  
He frowned. "No," he said. "You'll have to come to my quarters."  
  
Of course. She was hardly surprised– even centuries ago, the last thing Achmed ever wanted was to show weakness. "Which are where?"  
  
He opened his mouth, then said, "You'll need a tour of the Cauldron."  
  
"The. . . Cauldron?"  
  
"That's what we call the structure carved into the mountain. We're in it now."  
  
"Ah. Yes, I will most definitely need a tour. I have not been here since Gwylliam and Anwyn lived here before the war."  
  
"Then I'll have—" He paused, apparently having a hard time deciding who should show her around. "Kramash," he said finally. "Kramash will show you around. Stay here, finish eating. I will have her come get you."  
  
"What about you?"   
  
"What about me?"  
  
"Where are you going?"  
  
He snorted. "Out to 'socialize' at Rhapsody's ridiculous party. Why?"  
  
"Would you mind if I went with?"  
  
She could see little of his expression, but she thought he was skeptical. "I thought you didn't enjoy large crowds."  
  
"I thought the same about you."  
  
"Well, I have little choice in the matter. It's in my kingdom."  
  
"I see these people once a century. I feel guilty not going."  
  
Achmed snorted. "You aren't missing much. They're likely to all be drunk by now. If there's someone you particularly want to see, I can extend an invitation to join you here."  
  
"No. . . no, you're the closest thing to a friend I have among the Cymrians."  
  
Sounding exasperated, he said, "So why would you want to go?"  
  
"Because it beats getting shown around by a stranger that probably doesn't want to be showing me around in the first place."  
  
"You wanted to take a tour."  
  
"I need to," she said, "and I thought. . . well, never mind."  
  
He sighed irritably. "You thought what?"  
  
"I thought you were going to show me around."  
  
There was no answer at first. Then he said, "I told you, Chaline. I'm not the same person. I barely remember Serendair."  
  
"And you think I do? Yes, we're strangers, but you're less of a stranger than anyone else here. But if you're too busy— I understand."  
  
"You're going to be a pain in the arse, aren't you. Fine. Come, if you the desire to torture yourself. It makes no difference to me." 


	6. Cymrian Party

a/n: OK, ladies and gentlemen, here it is! The long-awaited (sort-of) next chapter! First off, thanks to everybody that reviewed. I love getting those little notices in my inbox. They definitely beat the midterm grades they emailed out last week *sigh*. Piece of advice: if you ever consider taking Calculus and Analytical Geometry, I have an alternative. RUN! And while I'm whining, anyone know what's worse than a frozen Pepsi that explodes in your little freezer compartment in your fridge and refuses to unfreeze? A frozen Pepsi that seems liquid until you open it, and then it explodes all over. Anyone want to buy a mini fridge??? Anyway, enough rambling. Enjoy (and if it's a little corny, sorry!). ~chris  
  
Chapter 6- Cymrian Party  
  
As predicted, the crowd at least partially drunken by the time Chaline and Achmed arrived at the Cymrian party, and it wasn't even suppertime. Almost immediately, they were joined by the Lord and Lady Cymrian. When introduced, Gwydion bowed in her direction.  
  
"We owe you one," Gwydion said with a charming grin. Leaning forward, he added in a feigned whisper, "We'd owe you another if you kept the old crank from insulting the guests."  
  
Thinking of the terms Achmed had already used for the Cymrians, Chaline shook her head. "I think that may be beyond me."  
  
"Beyond us all," Rhapsody said in amusement. "You look very nice, Chaline."  
  
Looking at the perfect woman in front of her, she only restrained a snort because Rhapsody was sincere. Rather than wear the fairly grungy travel clothes she had arrived in, she had changed into a dress from storage. It fit well, though it smelled musty. Blue satin in a casual cut, it was not noticeably out of style.  
  
"Thank you," she said. "So do you."  
  
"Why don't you come get dinner with Ashe and me," Rhapsody said, eyes dancing. "You can tell me what Achmed was like as a boy."  
  
"All right," she said uncertainly, glancing at Achmed.  
  
"Achmed, do come with us." The Lady Cymrian was smiling. "You can supervise. It will be fun."  
  
"As fun as a sword in the arse," Achmed muttered, snagging a glass of wine from one of the circulating Bolg waiters and following.  
  
They never made it to the tables with the food. The Lord and Lady were continually pestered by people wishing to speak— and Achmed was harassed by people wanting to know what illness had befallen him— until Chaline finally allowed Achmed to guide her away from his friends.  
  
There was a band and a dance floor. "Ooh!" she exclaimed.  
  
"No," he said before she could ask.  
  
"But—"  
  
"No."  
  
"You owe me."  
  
"And you're not paying taxes. Find someone else."  
  
"I don't know anyone else. You owe me for the checkup tomorrow."  
  
"No."  
  
"Please?"  
  
"Are you dense? No."  
  
"Please."  
  
"No."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I don't want to."  
  
She tilted her head. "Tell me why not, and I'll give up."  
  
"Hrekin." He gave her a surly look. "If you want to live in my kingdom, you'll do what I say."  
  
"As you wish." She grinned suddenly. "You can't dance, can you, Majesty. Is that it?"  
  
He glowered. "Of course I can dance—"  
  
"Great!" Taking his arm, she dragged him toward the dance area. Rather than make a scene, he let her have her way, to her surprise.  
  
They joined as a new dance began. Grumbling under his breath, Achmed nevertheless put a hand on her waist, talking the other. And they waltzed. Achmed actually did know how to waltz. They danced across the floor and back. He must have timed the music, because they had just reached an edge when the song ended. Before they could start the next tune, he was guiding her away.  
  
"That was fun," she informed him defiantly.  
  
"I'm leaving now. Are you coming?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
The ride back was in silence. Chaline was busy considering her future, and just what she intended to do for the next few years. Only the All-God knew what Achmed was thinking about. She could barely remember what he had been likely, all those centuries ago. She could believe that he had become an assassin, seeing him move, but somehow, she knew that part of his life was over. He could and would still kill, but he was a king now.  
  
By the time they reached the Cauldron, she was so tired she could barely stay on the horse. They ended up at the stables. She closed her eyes, then snapped them open when Achmed cleared his throat impatiently.  
  
He was waiting for her to get off. Hastily, she swung down and then swayed. He caught her arm. "Sorry," she yawned.  
  
"Come." He didn't shake her off when she held onto his arm. By the time they had gotten into the Great Hall, she was leaning against him, her eyes closed again. He shook her shoulder. "Wake up, Chaline."  
  
She forced her eyes open. "Where is my room? I forget."  
  
"This way."  
  
Eventually, she arrived in a room. Achmed led her to the bed, then lit a lamp. "You're fine for the night?"  
  
"Can you help me with the dress? I can't get it off alone." She yawned widely, covering her mouth.  
  
Achmed grunted, but he stepped forward. Turning her back to him, she waited. Deftly, he unsnapped the hooks that trailed down her spine. She wiggled in the suddenly loose fabric, glad to be free. "Thank you," she said. Leaving it on, still, she turned back. "Where shall I check you, tomorrow morning?"  
  
The other hesitated, then said, "Here. I will be back."  
  
"Okay." She yawned again, then said, "I'm going to bed." 


	7. The Checkup

a/n: I know it's been awhile. Hope y'all haven't forgotten about me. . . I'm having this stupid creative block and I've been stuck for awhile. Turns out it's a lot easier to update a lot when a story's already written. Anyway, yes, it's short. I'm working on a longer one. And with that, here we go again. . . .  
  
Chapter 7- The Checkup  
  
Chaline woke at the pounding on her door. She rolled onto her back, confused, and then realized where she was. Was Achmed back already? "Just a second!" she called, searching for something to wear. Her gown from last night was heaped on the ground, wrinkled and dirty. Her travel clothes had been taken away to wash.  
  
Wrapping the quilt around her torso, she went to the door. It was Achmed, completely veiled in his black wraps. He eyed her quilt as he walked in. "Interesting choice of garments," he said.  
  
"I don't have anything else."  
  
He walked to the wardrobe and pulled it open. To her amazement, it was filled with clothes. "There was nothing in it last night," she protested.  
  
"It was filled while you were at the party," Achmed said.  
  
"Thank you," she said, flipping through the garments. "Then I'll get dressed while you take your clothes off."  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"What? I thought you didn't like the quilt," she said with a grin.  
  
He didn't seem to appreciate the humor. "I'm not going to—"  
  
Chaline dropped the quilt. "Quit complaining," she suggested. "I can't check how you're doing if you don't." Throwing the quilt onto the bed, she pulled out a selection of clothing. She had noticed Achmed automatically looking away. After so many centuries, things like nudity usually lost their effect. But not on Achmed, she thought, pulling on a pair of trousers and a tunic.  
  
"Don't be shy, Achmed," she chided.  
  
Finally, with a grunt of annoyance, he yanked his veil off and began the process of unwrapping his body. He had chosen a quiet room with thick walls for her, and vibrations were at a minimal here, so his discomfort wasn't due to that. He stood before her, not looking at her. "Well?" he demanded, more surly than he had been a moment ago. "Am I dying?"  
  
"Lay down."  
  
Still making irritated noises, he went to the bed and laid on his back. "Honestly, Achmed," she said with a snort. "Do you protest this much over everything?"  
  
He gave her a sour look and said nothing. Smiling sweetly back at him, she walked over. She concentrated, and soon, she could see the glowing lines. They were slightly frayed, probably just from the vibrations at the party yesterday. That would recover on its own.  
  
"Good news," she said. "You're fine."  
  
He sat up and snatched his clothing. "Good."  
  
"So," she said eagerly, as he dressed. "Is it time for the tour?"  
  
"I have business to attend to. I'll send someone."  
  
"That will be fine," she said. "It's time to meet my neighbors." 


End file.
